The Peacemakers (39 page)

Jerry Malone was on top of it and had the embryo of a defense plan he had been working on since arriving at Malakal. But he had a problem; he only had eighteen cops for day-to-day security. To be effective, they had to augment their number with Irregulars. But that took them away from their normal duties. Another option was to use the legionnaires; however, they were already committed to defending the growing refugee camp and carrying out an intensive training schedule. Mission Awana also had a security force of ten men, but they were used for keeping domestic peace within the mission. They were not trained nor had the weapons for mounting an armed guard.

Allston walked over and studied the chart Malone tacked on the wall showing the minimum defensive posture for the mission. During the day, Malone calculated that six cops could effectively patrol the mission. However, at night he needed twelve cops, augmented by twelve Irregulars, to provide the mission with basic security. “Sir,” Malone concluded, “we’re asking a lot of the Irregulars to meet their normal duties and post out with us under normal conditions. As we increase our defensive posture, we will need even more help from Maintenance, and that means flying will grind to a halt. If that happens, why are we here?”

“Good question,” Allston replied. He made a mental note to talk to Vermullen the moment he got back and work out a way to integrate his legionnaires. “Major Sharp,” he said, “we’re putting a big monkey on your back on this one.” They all knew that it fell to her to warn them of impending danger.

“Toby has a good feel for the situation,” she told them. “I’m talking to him constantly.”

“Where does he get his information?” Malone asked.

“A variety of sources,” Jill answered. “The refugees, his medical teams in the field, local authorities, the jungle telegraph.”

Lovely, Allston thought. “Okay, let’s make this happen and hope we don’t get our …” he almost said ‘tits in a wringer’ but caught himself in time, “sweet young bodies in a wringer.”

Jill laughed. “I know what you meant.”

The distinctive clatter of an AK-47 woke Allston from a sound sleep. He glanced at the bedside clock – 0407 – and rolled out of bed. He listened, only to be greeted with silence. “What is it?” Tara asked.

“Gunfire. Don’t turn the light on. Get dressed and find Jill.” He pulled on his flight suit and boots and ran, holding his web belt with its holstered .45 in his left hand. Jill was running down the hall from the other side of the guesthouse. “You stay here and get everyone to safety,” he ordered. He was out the door and running for Mission House and his operations center.

Jill took a deep breath and calmed her raging emotions. She knocked on the door of his bedroom. “Tara, you there?” A burst of submachine gunfire inside the guesthouse shattered the stillness. Jill fell to the floor and rolled against the wall as Tara burst out of the bedroom in full panic. Jill grabbed the actress and pulled her to the floor beside her. Jill drew her .45 semi-automatic and held it with both hands as she sighted into the dark. The soft sound of footsteps reached the two women. A burst of gunfire deafened them as it split the air above their heads. Jill saw a shadow and fired twice. Both slugs hit their target and the shadow collapsed to the ground. Jill came to a standing crouch and moved slowly towards the body, holding the .45 at the ready in front of her. She sensed movement and fired a single round in that direction. A loud scream and the clatter of a dropped weapon rewarded her. Again, she crouched, her back against the wall and her breath coming fast. She held the .45 with both hands in the raised position in front of her. Tara was behind her, touching her in the dark. “Follow me,” Jill said in a low voice.

“Believe me, I will,” Tara replied. The fear in her voice was palpable.

Jill came to her feet and inched forward. She reached the first body and picked up the AK-47. She handed it to Tara. “Can you use this?”

Tara took the weapon and checked it. It was ready to fire. “I fired one once on a publicity shoot.”

“This isn’t for publicity.” Running feet echoed down the hall. The sound grew louder and Tara came to her feet, firing the AK-47 from the hip Rambo style. The recoil of the assault rifle lifted the muzzle and the shots went wild. Jill methodically aimed and fired. A shriek of pain carried down the corridor. Jill was up and running. She fired as she went, putting another round into the rolling body. Again, the man screamed. Jill paused long enough to fire once more, this time into the man’s head. She grabbed his AK-47 and the two women crept down the hall towards the main room and the veranda. A light flicked on and Jill saw two more figures. She raised her .45 and started to squeeze the trigger. Just as quickly, she relaxed and lowered her weapon. One of the men was wearing a bush hat. “Turn out the light,” she ordered. She threw the AK-47 she was carrying to one of the men. “There’s another one back there in the hall,” she told the men.

“Thanks,” Bard Green said.

The loud bark of submachine guns exploded in the night as Allston ran for the Ops Center in Mission House. Most of it was coming from the outskirts of the mission compound, but it was growing louder. Gunfire drove him to cover beside a school building where he caught his breath. He started to move as a burst of submachine gun fire drove him back to his hiding place. He drew his automatic and waited. It seemed an eternity as the minutes clicked away.